


Speak

by WakeUpDreaming



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: For the anonymous prompt, "If you really loved me there wouldn't be a choice."





	Speak

She wakes up to an empty bed, cold despite August heat waiting outside her window. Head pounding from the ache of last night, she pulls his shirt around her shoulders. It smells like him.

She doesn’t bother to button anything as she walks to the kitchen, following the smell of fresh brewed coffee and something that’s either burning or artfully toasted.

“Hey,” he says, smile soft, almost apologetic, “you want eggs with bacon or without?” She doesn’t know why he’s the one apologetic.

“If you really loved me,” she begins, trying to start this with humor for once, “there wouldn’t be a choice.”

The apology fades from the smile, replaced with the laughter she so loves seeing.

He hands her a coffee in silence and she sips, watching him as he dumps out what she can only assume was an egg over-medium that failed miserably, from the mix of yellow in the center of a burnt-edge white.

She doesn’t know how to start this conversation. She should know by now. They’ve had it enough times.

“You need to stop feeling bad about it.”

She jolts from her confusion. He’s not supposed to speak first. That’s her job. She’s supposed to be talking more.

“Seriously,” he continues, “Happy, it’s okay.”

She fidgets. “It’s not.”

“It is.” And then he puts the pan on the stove and turns from it. A foolish little voice in her head giggles at the thought of him burning another egg, but she tells it to quiet – this is not the time. “It’s a panic attack. It happens, especially after trauma. And you’ve nearly drowned enough times.”

And the words slip out of her mouth, before she can force them back down like she has every other time, when she’s replaced them with an apology and his kiss. “You’ve been through worse and you don’t have them.”

It’s a beat before she can look up at him. He’s inquisitive, that kind of look he has when he’s getting ready to call someone out.

“You’re stronger than me.” Now that the thoughts have started, they march out in the order of how hard they’ve battled her. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me when you’re dealing with your own –”

“Nope.” He’s shaking his head. “Don’t even try that. What’s yours is mine – we made that decision months ago. What hurts you hurts me, even when you try to hide it from me.” He catches her eye. “Especially when you try to hide it from me.”

She hates herself for it, but her eyes water again, the second set of tears in less than eight hours. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

He sighs, a familiar sound she hears in moments like these, “I’m so glad you’re speaking to me, darling,” then he wraps his arms around her shoulders, “but you don’t have to keep repeating things I’ve already told you aren’t real.”

She lets herself fall against him, burying her face into his chest like she had last night. She half believes she feels a phantom of her own tears on his tee shirt.

“You aren’t hurting me,” he murmurs, lips close to her ear and voice soothing, “and I’m always here to help you. All you have to do is ask. And sometimes,” she feels him kiss the top of her head, “you don’t even have to ask.”

She wants to know what to say here, wants to know what comes next, what to say.

But, sometimes, it’s still hard to speak.


End file.
